


Of Bears

by OfBearIsland (jurassic)



Series: Folklore [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bear Island (A Song of Ice and Fire), Character Study, Elephants, Minor: Lynesse/Jorah, The Golden Company, Young Jorah
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:16:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29518647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jurassic/pseuds/OfBearIsland
Summary: From a brave Bear cub, to the skillful fighter. As a young boy, he is promised the inheritance of House Mormont, a responsibility that shapes him years in advance. As a young man, he wins the heart of a young beauty, and devoted he becomes. But when his destiny presents him with a new life across the Narrow Sea, he has to adapt, learn unfamiliar languages and come face to face with who he wants to be as he's transformed from a Northman, to an Andal.[Character study of Jorah Mormont.]
Relationships: Lynesse Hightower/Jorah Mormont
Series: Folklore [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168526
Kudos: 15





	1. The Old Bear

**Author's Note:**

> This story will feature multiple chapters and is my first dip into the waters of Game of Thrones. I would absolutely love feedback on the way I write Jorah, because this is more or less a preparation for a few plot ideas that I have regarding Daenerys/Jorah fics. And I might very possibly add a character study fic on our Dragon Queen as well. 
> 
> Each chapter will represent a part of Jorah's life and as far as I have it planned in my head now, there won't be any time-jumps.  
> The different scenes won't be directly connected and will be rather short, 800-1500 words each, I think.  
> I kind of wanted to show why Jorah might have become the man that he is when he meets Daenerys.
> 
> Lean back and enjoy, my loves.

He lay in a cold and murky puddle at the feet of a man easily twice his own statue. It seemed that he could hear the clash of his own sword echoing in his mind; wood hitting wood. The words of his father reaching his ears from a far away distance now. 

_Slow._

_Too weak._

_Be smart._

He was a boy of eight, and yet he fought better than some that had been born before the last summer had gone by. Winter was harsh on Bear Island, the bitter winds plagued the shores, lashing across the Island like the whips of lone-gone slavers and snow fell until it reached the windowsills. 

“A man is only worth his ability to provide for the ones he loves. Now stand up, boy.” He was dragged to his feet by the strong grip of his father, who needed but one hand to lift him up.

“The strength to protect your family and your House, the House of Mormont, is your inheritance. If you do not learn to fight, you will lay waste to what is in your blood. Here We Stand!” The words of his house drew fog in the crisp winter air as his father thrust the wooden training sword back into his brittle hands. 

Slowly in Jorah’s pounding head, the knowledge about sword fights he had been taught pieced itself back together and he drew the weapon up to his chin, holding it in one hand as he pushed forward with a shout. “Here We Stand!”

But his father deflected the attack, beating the lank boy down into the dirt once more.

“Jorah.” He spoke his name with more compassion than he had led on, by the way he had threshed him to the ground. 

“Fight with your head as much as you do with your muscles and your heart. If your opponent expects your attack, it is already lost. Every beat of your sword has to yield something.” He paused, helping his son up once more. 

“Look at it this way. You pay with your vigor. The draw of your weapon and the steps of your feet cost you energy. If they are lost in the parry of your enemy, and that parry doesn’t nearly cost him as much as the strike cost you, you are at a loss.”

“Yes, father.” Jorah nodded, his strong brows drawn together in understanding. 

Blood embellished the corner of his mouth, brought on by an earlier hit at his father’s hands. He wouldn’t have taken notice of it, hadn’t it been for the metallic taste on his tongue. He had never seen his father tainted with blood, at least not in training and shame crawled in his gut like hot fire. He would make him proud by training harder and getting better. There was no question about that. He swore it to himself and the Gods every night when he lay in the darkness of his bedchamber and the wind was whistling against the Castle walls. 

For one day, he would be head of his house and wear the Bear on his chest, with his father’s sword at his waist. 

\----- x X x -----

At sixteen, Jorah had become a formidable horse rider. It was the one thing he had taught himself and become better at than the Old Bear. Horses weren’t of much use on Bear Island itself, due to the limited mass and the hard snowfall of the land, they were mostly used as good natured beasts of work.

But Jorah had found a way with them, understood them better than most and found it easy to work with them. His own steed was a warm-blooded, chestnut-colored stallion that came when called by its name. The animal was at perfect height for him to slay his sword down to enemies below and carry his lance in a competition against another rider. And the connection he had with the horse didn’t go unnoticed by his father. 

“You would make not bad of a knight up on the back of this beast.” Jeor Mormont commented, catching Jorah off guard while he was saddling the stallion for an upcoming hunt with his sister. 

“I have often seen the men of the Kingsguard, riding by on tournaments held in the honor of Kings and Queens. Most of them were older than you, and supposedly, they are the greatest fighters of Westeros. Thus their place at the King’s side. And yet, I have faith that we Bears here in the north could take them on, if it ever had to come to that.” His father’s lips stopped moving and Jorah thought that he looked as if lost deep in thought at his own words, all of the sudden. But the moment passed so quickly that the young man dared to think he imagined the change in temper all together. 

Jorah swung himself up onto the back of his steed and glancing at his father, he nodded proudly. “I will bring you a Boar, heavier than you have ever seen, father. An animal so powerful that even the Knights in the Kingsguard would have trouble slaying it.” He promised, spurred on by the praise of his father in regards to his horse. His chest swollen with pride. For compliments were rare and hard to earn by this old Bear. And it pleased Jorah to have pleased his father in at least this aspect.

Jeor Mormont barely broke a smile at his son’s words and sent him off with a modest nod of his own head. To those who did not know the Old Bear, the moment carried little significance, but Jorah was his father’s son and knew that a smile from him was as rare as snow in King’s Landing. 

And on this night again, he lay in bed and imagined what it would be like to follow into the steps of a man of such greatness. Next to him the dried head of a boar, the size of his horse’s arse.


	2. Lynesse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On first loves and what kind of a woman it took to win the Bear’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the Kudos! I couldn't be happier xoxo

The color of her hair was glittering gold, like the finest jewelry in all the seven kingdoms. Pure and untouched, like the crown of the King himself. It was not unlike that of other ladies he had seen, but it seemed to him that new words should be crafted in the honor of its beauty, for he had never felt so speechless in the company of so fair a girl. Her skin was like polished silver. Pale and smooth like milk, covered only by the shining honey of the silken strands of her hair, flowing freely around her shoulders. 

Jorah Mormont from Bear Island had enjoyed the sight of beautiful women before, had craved their affections and had been curious for their touch. He remembered the way he had kissed a girl once, behind a tree on Bear Island, eager to belt himself with experience in the matter in front of the other young men he trained with. And as he grew older, more than a girl’s lips became important to him. But never in his life had he understood the songs about the importance of a Lady’s Love until he had laid eyes on her. 

It was unlike him to think of other matters than his sword and the Bear on his chest right before a battle, but for the first time in his life, he truly yearned for the favor of a Lady. And as it so happened, his wish was granted. On that day, Lady Lynesse of Hightower granted him a golden necklace, set with fiery-shining rubies so valuable that her father had strictly forbidden that they leave Oldtown at all. She gave it as a favor to Jorah, bestowing him with pride and bidding him to come out of the tournament unharmed, to return the priceless possession to her. 

Winning the tournament, held in King Robert Baratheon’s honor for defeating the Greyjoy Rebellion, gained him her hand in marriage. 

\----- x X x -----

His new wife came from Old Town, where the sun was always high and the waves on the beaches brought a welcoming breeze. Despite the light tone of her skin, she enjoyed bathing in the sun and letting the rays of sunshine caress the blonde tips of her free flowing hair. On Bear Island, the sun spent most of its time hidden behind thick clouds or enhanced the glitter of falling snowflakes, when it was too icy to show much skin to the sky. 

She often remarked how little she cared for her new home.

The sound of her fine shoes echoed off the thick castle walls as Lynesse strutted through the narrow hallways of the Castle.

The sturdy Mormont had his back to her as she walked in. He sat at the desk in their bedchamber, busying himself with letters directed at the Head of House Mormont. His eyebrows sat low above his blue-grey eyes, furrowed deeply in concentration while he deciphered the writing of a letter from Winterfell. At the sound of his wife’s footsteps, his head stayed low and unmoving, but his eyes traveled from the paper to the grey stonewall in front of him. Foreboding settled deep in his gut, and his muscles tightened at the thoughts of what she could possibly ask of him this time. 

Last week, it had been a new horse, a beautiful dark brown mare sold by travelers all the way from the south of King’s Landing. Her bright hair and wintry skin had been a stark contrast to the sleek fur of the proud animal. The week before that, fabric and because she couldn’t sow herself - or so she claimed - two day’s work from a woman that lived outside the Castle walls. Then wine from across the Narrow Sea here, and earrings from a merchant in Winterfell there. 

He felt like a man who tended to not only one woman, but a whole household of women, each with expensive taste.

“Jorah.” The way she spoke his name had lost its melody a long time ago, instead the letters coming off her tongue sounded much like the cold wind that howled against the Castle walls now. He turned at once and as he leaned back in his chair, she gracefully descended down onto his lap, as if lowering herself onto a chair to pose for a portrait for hours. 

“How is the dress coming along, my beautiful?” His voice was still rugged this late in the day. He hadn’t been speaking much, for these letters had arrived before he had woken up, and the maester had insisted they be read before dawn. 

“The dress?” The beautiful young woman seemed to search her mind in vain for a memory for a brief moment, but broke into a wide smile shortly after. “Oh that. Yes, it is prettier every day. But that is not what I came here for, my attentive Bear. Have you heard of the festivities the Starks plan to hold? Catelyn has born another son. The fest will be in the child’s honor, I suppose.” 

Jorah had his arms around his wife, nestling the younger woman against his broad chest to shield her from the freshness of the room. She still refused to wear proper hides, accusing them too heavy and strange-smelling for a girl so young. So he knew how cold she always was, and did his best to keep her warm when given the chance. 

“Another Stark son, aye.” He whispered hazily. “By the God’s as if Ned Stark doesn’t have enough mouths to feed, yet. He is his what… sixths child now? Including the Bastard boy, of course. Jon Snow.” 

It was a name he could not forget. The rumors of the boy had spread fast. The Warden of the North had returned from war, and laid a child in his wife’s arms. A Bastard, conceived during war was not unusual, not even for loyal Northmen, but Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and devoted husband of Catelyn Stark, formerly Tully, was a man so loyal, songs were sung about him.

If a man of his character found himself bedding a woman not his wife in the face of death, was there any hope for the rest of them? 

“I heard the Snow-child is growing up marvelously.” Interrupted Lynesse’s voice, and he found it hard not to compare her own soft tone to that of a child. “And with hair as black as the feather of a raven.” She laughed a melodic little laugh at the thought of one raven haired boy amidst a row of red-headed Tully descendants. 

And in that moment, Jorah Mormont of Bear Island couldn’t imagine ever laying with another woman than his beautiful, happy wife. Despite the cost she brought onto him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this second part, what are your thoughts on Lynesse? 
> 
> More on their marriage in the next part. :)
> 
> The next chapter is going to be about his time in the Golden Company, and I hope to post it around the same time next week, maybe.  
> Still got an upcoming exam, though writing has been my pleasure to take some of the uni-stress off.  
> Lovely week to you guys and stay healthy.


	3. The Golden Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where are the Elephants?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another little update, I also plan to post the first chapter for my Daenerys character study soon. Also in this Folklore Series that is. Thanks for the Kudos and have a lovely weekend please.

“Welcome to the Men who fight for Gold.” A keen voice rang in his ears and out of nowhere the hand of a young man grabbed his shoulder.    
“I have seen you in the training pits and I must admit you don’t let your age on, under all that gold. I have been fighting with some of these men for over a year, and you crushed them like flies.”

Jorah’s tired eyes mustered the sellword by his side with wariness as the younger man, clad in golden armour himself, joined him on the stairs leading to the fighting camps. He had signed his name five days ago, hoping to bring in more money for his crestfallen wife and himself. Life had been unforgiving ever since they had fled Westeros after Eddard Stark had called for his head in light of his business with the slave traders.

“My name is Tibin.” The sellsword said, reaching out his hand. 

Jorah glanced down, and after brief consideration he grabbed the man’s arm in a shaking motion. Though his gaze was guarded. For five days, he had spoken to no one, but he knew better than anyone that battles could not be won by the sword of one man alone. 

“Ser Jorah Mormont of-” His voice died away, before he quickly recovered. “Ser Jorah Mormont, pleasure.” 

“Tell me, Jorah Mormont, what does a fine Ser of your build do in the training pits of the Golden Company?” Tibin inquired. 

“Earn Gold.” Jorah answered honestly, and was met with a knowing roll of eyes by his opposite. “I have a young wife that I have to provide for. The Free City of Lys was kind enough to welcome us, but work is hard to find and I am talented on horse-back and with most weapons. I can’t choose the men I fight for while in need of their coin, but here I know that my services will not be in vain. The Golden Company is famous for seeing every contract through.” Jorah explained, his voice never faltering.

Tibin smiled. “That, my friend, is because they only accept the contracts that seem to be won before the battle. You seem like a man who has more than talent when it comes to your sword, and if I judge you right, you have good in mind. If you are as good on horse-back as you claim, you are going to love what comes next.” He said with a teething grin and grabbing Jorah’s shoulder, turned the middle-aged soldier roughly around.

To his own amazement, he was met with the sight of a horde of emerging Elephants. Their tusks adorned with patterns of gold, each of them wearing a headplate that carried the emblem of the Golden Company, a spear and seven dangling skulls. Sizable saddles were strapped to their backs, holding two and at times even three men at once. They were controlled by at least one man each, and the rider held dark leather reins that were tied at their ivory horns. The magnificent animals stomped the earth in their way, guided by their riders, leaving a dark trail in the bare grass of the field. 

Jorah’s mouth was agape, his eyes now truly alert for the first time since he had come into the service of the mercenaries. He could not believe what was right in front of him. He had heard the stories of sellwords riding on the backs of Elephants, but much like the tales his father had told him about White Walkers, he had believed them to be glorifications. Monsters, made up by the people that had lived long before them, to give might to the enemies they had fallen against in battle. 

In his head, the riders had not stood on the powerful beasts, but sat right behind their enormous heads, wielding bows or longswords. He felt foolish now, imagining that one man alone could control an animal of such massive size and slay his foes at the same time. But giving color to the words of old stories was different from standing at the feet of the creature itself and only now could he understand that as a young boy, his attempts at grasping the stories had been doomed to be futile. Only those who saw these magnificent beasts would ever understand.

Nonetheless in the events of what he had seen, he burst through the door of the small home that he and Lynesse could afford in the city of Lys, his gruff voice full of excitement. “Lynesse! You wouldn’t believe what I-”

He stopped dead in his tracks, one foot caught on the threshold to the room that made up most of their home. The corners of his lips sunk as he took in the scene in front of his eyes. There she was, the love of his life, in their shared bed, tangled in the sheets with another man. The expensive fabric of her dress laid in a ruffled pile on the sandy floor. The man’s garments were neatly laid over the backrest of a nearby chair and next to them a shimmering golden necklace with a blue gemstone in its middle.

Jorah Mormont had forgotten how to cry when he turned 12 years old. It wasn’t suitable for a man, he had told himself, and a man he wanted to be. Strong and steadfast as his father. But in this moment, he swore that if he still knew how to shed tears, he would have. Instead, his glassy blue eyes reflected the shock on Lynesse’s face while he stared at her in surprise, disbelief and after processing the scene, hurt. 

The man, he came to know later, was a merchant lord by the name of Ormollen. The foreign Lord jumped to his feet at an instant and drew a dagger from his laid-away clothes, prepared to fight. Jorah doubted the man wanted to duel for the beauty that shared with him the bed of another man, no. The fella doubtlessly worried about the jealous husband, and prepared himself to take his opponent on. But Jorah refused to fight for… whatever he had believed she had been to him.

Instead, he wordlessly stumbled back as if hit by an arrow right in the torso, and with weak knees, he descended the stairs he had climbed to their home, fleeing as if Ned Stark himself had greeted him at the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heart? Broke.


End file.
